


yeah, you got me

by cherryfeather



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Car Sex, M/M, Never Have I Ever, Other, Spin the Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:50:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1889031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryfeather/pseuds/cherryfeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Just say <i>something,"</i> Athos sighed. </p><p>"I'm thinking!" Aramis protested. "I've done a lot of things, okay, I'm having a hard time coming up with a good one."</p><p>This was rapidly turning into simultaneously one of the best and worst games of Never Have I Ever he'd ever played. Best, because he was learning oh-so-many terrible, horrible, wonderful things his friends had done.</p><p>Worst, because he was losing <i>badly.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	yeah, you got me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [breathtaken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/gifts).



> For Nat, who prompted me this and has probably forgotten, SURPRISE BB. Title is from "Tik Tok," because high school!Aramis loves Kesha and you can't convince me otherwise. 
> 
>  
> 
> Mild warnings: Athos, Porthos, and Aramis are eighteen in this story, since they're at the end of their high school senior year, so there is no main sexual content that's underage. Athos mentions some sexytimes he had with Anne a few years earlier, when they would have both been sixteen, but it's literally just a mention.

"Just say _something,"_ Athos sighed. 

"I'm thinking!" Aramis protested. "I've done a lot of things, okay, I'm having a hard time coming up with a good one."

This was rapidly turning into simultaneously one of the best and worst games of Never Have I Ever he'd ever played. Best, because he was learning oh-so-many terrible, horrible, wonderful things his friends had done.

Worst, because he was losing _badly._ He was down to five fingers, and they'd all been fairly innocuous things. He didn't want to be out before the good shit starting happening.

"Okay," he said. "Uhm. Never have I ever...taken ecstasy."

There was a grumble from some people in the circle and a laugh from the spectators, and several people put a finger down. Louis' living room was absolutely packed, not just with people playing, but a lot of people watching. The entire party had narrowed to focus on the game. Aramis hoped they were giving a good show. A huge group of eighteen year-olds discussing their filthy secrets had to be better than reality TV.

"No way," d'Artagnan said as Athos put down a finger. "Where did you even get it?"

Athos gave him a look. "Where do you think?"

"You never met Anne," Porthos said, patting the sophomore on the shoulder. D'Artagnan still had all ten fingers up, bless him--he was a smart player, though, using his comparative innocence and naivete to get them all out. _Never have I ever drunk alcohol_ had knocked one off every single person in the circle.

Athos was down to six fingers, because apparently, under the influence of his longtime former girlfriend, Athos had been even more of a juvenile delinquent than he'd led them to believe--Aramis was really going to have to ask him how, exactly, he stole and crashed a car--and it was his turn now. 

Athos took a long drink of his beer, thinking about it, then set it down, wiped his mouth, and said, "Never have I ever kissed a boy."

Dammit to hell. Aramis tucked in his pinky.

Beside him, Porthos put down a finger, too. 

Aramis nearly cricked his neck turning to stare at him.

Porthos winked at him and grinned. "You don't know my life."

The circle moved on--Ninon had never smoked pot, Louis had never gone on a road trip, Adele had never bought herself a sex toy--but the thought lingered in Aramis' mind. When had Porthos had a chance to kiss a boy and not tell Aramis about it? They'd been inseparable since sixth grade. How, in six years, could that have happened?

Who had it been?

Constance had to deliberate for a while, as well. Comparatively virtuous (she had seven fingers still up, and most everyone else was down to at least five), she and d'Artagnan had been high-fiving each other across the circle for the past five minutes. "Never have I ever given head," she said finally.

"Not specific enough," Anna laughed from where she sat beside Louis, six fingers still held out before her. "Cock or pussy?"

 _"Anna,"_ Louis muttered, flushing brick red to hear such language out of his reserved girlfriend's mouth, and she laughed again. She was a dirty drunk.

Constance grinned fiercely across the circle at her. "Cock, then."

"So you _have_ eaten pussy?" Adele asked casually, and Constance blushed a pretty pink and didn't answer. Aramis mentally filed that away to ask about later, as Adele announced, "All right, then, who's sucked cock?"

Aramis put down his ring finger. 

And Athos and Porthos both put one down, too. 

A few whoops chased their way around the room, especially as Ninon proudly lifted her hand as she folded down her finger, but Aramis didn't hear them. Blood rushed in his ears, and nervous tingling sparked down his spine and along his fingertips--he felt incredibly warm, suddenly, and he carefully tucked one knee up to his chest because _holy fuck,_ he couldn't stop thinking about it--

His two best friends had sucked cock. And they hadn't told him.

Fuck, it hadn't been each _other's,_ had it? 

No, they would have told him. They would have. The three of them didn't hide things like that from each other--besides, Porthos would never let Athos get near his cock if they hadn't kissed, and Athos hadn't put his finger down for that. Which, speaking of--

"Wait a minute," d'Artagnan said, blinking owlishly at Athos. He seemed to have arrived at the same place as Aramis. "You haven't kissed a boy, but you've..." He trailed off, turning slowly brick red. 

Athos shrugged, somehow making that movement incredibly graceful and elegant even disheveled and slightly inebriated. Aramis couldn't stop staring at his mouth. Athos had put that mouth around some other boy's cock. His quiet, serious best friend had sucked someone off.

This whole night had been incredibly funny until right now. 

"Athos, you slut," Ninon exclaimed in delight, leaning across the circle and raising her hand for a high five. A few people around the circle whistled and cheered.

Athos slapped her hand without the barest hint of embarrassment. "It's a very long story," he said, taking another swig of beer. "Trust me when I say it's not nearly as interesting or sexy as it sounds."

"You can't just say that and not give any details," Louis said, resting his chin on his hand and frowning across the circle at him.

"See if you can ask the right questions, then," Athos said, unruffled as ever. "Though, now I think on it, why is no one asking Porthos probing questions? Or Ninon, or Anna, or--"

"I dated Greg Wilson for three months and we had a lot of sex," Porthos announced. "There, that's me done, back to you." He, too, had a knee pulled up to his chest, and he rested his chin on it, looking at Athos with slightly narrowed eyes and a strange kind of smile Aramis had never seen on his face. 

Athos rolled his eyes. "No, sorry, I will have to be a lot drunker before I spill that story to a room full of people."

"Does it have anything to do with the ecstasy story?" Aramis asked, finally having controlled his blush enough to say _something._ They would have noticed if he'd stayed totally silent; it'd be a dead giveaway that his mind was completely elsewhere.

Athos gave him a look. "No." But now that he was looking at Aramis, he could see how Aramis was sitting, the very clear traces of a blush, and Aramis knew, he _knew_ Athos could always read him like an open book.

Athos tilted his head slightly, and he slightly quirked an eyebrow in Aramis' direction.

For some reason, it was that raised eyebrow that made Aramis' heart start to pound.

"It's Alice's turn," Athos said then, and took another sip of his drink.

As Alice thought about her turn, Aramis leaned in close to Porthos. "I never knew you dated Greg Wilson," he said quietly.

"He was still in the closet when we were together, I didn't want to out him," Porthos said, just as quiet, and took a sip of his Coke. "I would have told you two--"

"It's okay."

Porthos gave him a sideways look. "Is it?"

Aramis nodded, because his throat was doing something funny, closing on any words he could say or air he could breathe. Why wouldn't it be okay? "Not outing him? Of course," Aramis said, swallowing down the lump in his throat, and he meant it. He thought the world of Porthos for keeping that kind of secret. "Of course that's okay."

"That wasn't what I meant," Porthos started to say, but Alice on his other side started talking. 

"Never have I ever," she declared, "played Spin the Bottle."

Aramis, Adele, Ninon, and Louis each put a finger down. No one else did.

"Are you kidding me?" Ninon laughed in delight. "None of you have?"

"Oh, we _have_ to," Aramis said without thinking. 

Like the fucking _idiot_ he was.

He had not expected everyone else to seize on the idea with such alacrity. Because not sixty seconds later, a bottle had been fetched, the circle had widened to include a few born opportunists, and Aramis was suddenly staring down the prospect of having to kiss one or both of his best friends.

Which was fine, it was totally fine, only now he had the mental image of both of them sucking cock in his head, and--

And--

And he was trying not to think about the fact that this was their senior year finals party, and that in three days they'd have graduated, and in three _months_ Athos would be at Yale and Porthos would be at Howard and Aramis would still be here in New York, at NYU, and he had successfully _not_ thought about it all night but now he was thinking about it because he was maybe going to kiss them and Athos had never kissed a boy but Porthos _had,_ and--

He was either going to cry or come in his pants if he had to kiss either of them.

"Is everybody okay with this?" he said, not a little hopeful that someone wouldn't be, as everyone settled in and Louis carefully set the bottle in the center.

"This was your idea," d'Artagnan reminded him heartlessly.

"I immediately regret this decision," Aramis said under his breath, reaching for his beer and taking a long, long drink.

"I'll start," Adele said, reaching for the bottle. "Spin, kiss whoever the bottle mouth points to, ten second minimum. Kiss-ee gets to spin next. Problems?"

"No phones," Louis said sternly, looking around at everyone, and there was a general grumble of assent.

"Lovely!" Adele leaned in and spun the empty wine bottle.

This, Aramis decided, had to be what playing Russian Roulette felt like. Every time the bottle spun and didn't point to him was a dodged bullet. He couldn't even enjoy the really, really nice kisses people were swapping right in front of him--Ninon and Constance's had been oddly tender, both girls tangling their fingers in each others' long curls--because he was so preoccupied with Athos' facial expressions from across the circle, so hyperaware of Porthos' movements beside him.

Surely Aramis wasn't the only person sitting around this circle who was uncomfortably aroused right now. Louis was fidgeting, but Aramis wasn't sure if the man was turned on or just being himself. Anna, leaning against Louis' side, was definitely turned on, biting her lip and looking eagerly around the circle. Aramis had always really liked Anna. 

Constance spun the bottle, still blushing from kissing Ninon, and Aramis watched it go around and around, hoping it would draw him out of his head.

It landed on d'Artagnan. 

_Now_ things were funny again. Good for the kid. He'd been pining for a kiss from her since he was a freshman.

D'Artagnan turned even redder than he had when he'd been utterly scandalized by Athos sucking someone's cock without kissing them first. "Uh," he said, wiping his palms on his thighs as he sat up. 

Constance blushed even harder, but straightened, looking resolute. "Get over here," she said, sliding gracefully into the center of the circle.

It took them a few moments to coordinate how they were going to sit, each reaching slightly awkwardly over the bottle for shoulders or cheeks, and then--

"Wow," Porthos said beside him. Aramis blinked. Athos took a very long swig of his beer. 

"That's ten seconds," Adele said faintly.

Aramis would bet d'Artagnan and Constance didn't even hear. Once they'd gotten past the first awkward brush of lips, they'd just fallen into each other. D'Artagnan pressed in, Constance shifted up to her knees, and Aramis could see her hands wandering farther and farther down his back.

Louis cleared his throat loudly, and when that didn't work, Porthos took more direct measures. He dipped his fingers into Aramis' Solo cup, then flicked the two of them with lukewarm beer. They broke apart with a startled shriek from Constance and muffled curse from d'Artagnan, and everybody laughed as they each flipped an obscene gesture in Porthos' direction. 

Both blushing furiously, Constance and d'Artagnan resumed their places in the circle, determinedly not looking at each other. D'Artagnan laughed once, even more awkwardly than before, and reached into the circle to spin the bottle.

"It's your lucky night," Aramis drawled when it landed on Athos.

"Oh, shut up," d'Artagnan said, still red as a fucking beet as he slid into the center of the circle to a chorus of cheers and catcalls.

Athos merely arched an eyebrow and set his beer aside. He slid into the center and held out an imperious hand for d'Artagnan. That was so typical of Athos, Aramis thought dazedly, as Athos and d'Artagnan's heads seemed to move closer in slow motion. Acting like the whole thing was beneath him when he started to feel he might be about to show any kind of emotion.

Then Athos took d'Artagnan's head in his hands and crashed their lips together, and that sight obliterated any other thought from Aramis' mind.

Athos hadn't shaved in a few days, and his dark stubble against his pale cheeks made a sharp contrast to d'Artagnan's tan skin. Aramis could see, from an angle he hadn't had for d'Artagnan and Constance's kiss, exactly how Athos' lips moved against d'Artagnan's--firmly, with purpose, and Aramis could hardly fault d'Artagnan when their younger friend's eyes fell shut, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. If Aramis were in his position, he'd be slumping into Athos, too. It looked absolutely overwhelming.

Beside him, Aramis could feel Porthos tense. He didn't want to look away from Athos and d'Artagnan to see why, but the suddenness of it sent a stab of worry through him. 

"Time!" Adele called.

Athos' hands fell instantly from d'Artagnan's hair, and he pulled back. D'Artagnan slowly blinked his eyes open, like a sleeper coming awake, and he smiled a little bashfully up through his eyelashes at Athos. 

It was an incredibly appealing look. Aramis marveled that Athos didn't melt into putty right there. But then, Athos had always been untouchable. 

"Good?" Athos asked d'Artagnan, and Aramis felt a flush of warm affection for his friend. No one else had asked. 

D'Artagnan nodded, his smile a little dopey, and he tucked his hair behind his ears, settling back into his place on Porthos' other side. That drew Aramis' attention back to Porthos--Porthos, who still sat stiffly beside him. 

He looked up and saw Porthos staring fixedly at Athos, a strange intensity in his dark eyes. Aramis followed his gaze back to Athos, even more disheveled than usual, as he sat back. Around them, the onlookers were whooping and cheering, but Aramis felt curiously removed from it. They were outside the circle. They didn't matter. 

Athos glanced their direction, and when he found them both staring at him, color bloomed in his pale cheeks for the first time all night. He reached for his beer and took a long drink as he reached out to spin the bottle. 

The dark glass flashed as it went around, and then--

Aramis felt the ground slowly slip away beneath him as the bottle slowed and pointed to him. A sudden surge of adrenaline left him lightheaded, and _pounding_ was not an adequate word for what his heart was doing at the moment. 

He looked up and met Athos' eyes, and for the first time all night, Athos looked caught off-guard. His bright blue eyes were very wide, and he stared at Aramis with a look of faint shock. Athos had not expected this to happen. 

Aramis was very dimly aware of people talking, laughing--something about the Inseparables not being quite as close as they'd all thought, ha-ha, Louis, funny--but none of that mattered. 

He pushed himself into the center of the circle, feeling strangely detached from his actions in the wake of the tidal wave of hormones flooding through his body. He didn't really think he was himself right now. He was some strange version of Aramis who could do things like kiss Athos at a party, surrounded by strangers. 

Athos set down his beer and moved closer, too, his eyes never leaving Aramis'. Aramis had known Athos for four years, and still he could barely trace the storm of emotions whirling across his face. Did Athos want this? Was this going to make things weird? 

"Um," Aramis said, his voice quiet and just for Athos' ears, as they stared each other down over the bottle. "Is this okay?"

Athos nodded, like he didn't trust himself to speak, and reached out a hand to him. It was a lot less certain than the hand he'd held out to d'Artagnan. 

Aramis licked his suddenly dry lips and leaned in. 

Athos' hand cupped the angle of his jaw, holding Aramis' face steady, and Athos slid in a little closer. The noise of the party seemed to spike and then drop off sharply--had everyone else heard that, or was it just Aramis' imagination?--and for one madly tripping heartbeat, Aramis worried he really was going to cry if Athos kissed him. 

Then Athos' lips, kiss-rough from d'Artagnan's mouth, touched his hesitantly, and Aramis felt like he'd been electrocuted. Something about that tentative brush, and knowing it was _Athos,_ that his unshakable, unflappable Athos was nervous about kissing him, sent energy crackling down his spine.

For the first time, Aramis felt like he knew what he was doing. He could kiss. He was a damn good kisser, half the school could swear to it, and suddenly he wanted to do nothing more than kiss away Athos' nerves.

He leaned in, reaching up for Athos' face, and let his lips part slightly, hoping Athos would take the hint. Athos did, his fingers tightening on Aramis' jaw, and Aramis licked carefully into his mouth, deepening their kiss.

Athos made a faint _huh_ sound, that only Aramis could hear, and then--

Athos rocked upright, sliding his hand through Aramis' hair and hauling him closer, and the sudden shocking tug of fingers on his hair sent goosebumps prickling down his arms and spine. A painful yearning exploded in the pit of his chest, and Aramis _moaned,_ letting his jaw fall slack as Athos pressed against him.

Athos. This was Athos, kissing him breathless, kissing him deep and filthy and oh, God, people were watching, weren't they, they were surrounded by people and everybody had just heard Aramis moan like he was dying from kissing his best friend-- Heat erupted all over his skin, and he didn't know if it was embarrassment or arousal or some twisted combination of both--he'd never had an exhibitionist thing before, but somehow it was hard to care with Athos' fingers in his hair. Anyway, he wouldn't have to care about these people's opinions for much longer.

Because--because they were all leaving--

His hands fisted in the front of Athos' shirt, clinging to him desperately, because he couldn't pull away, he couldn't lose this, he _couldn't--_

"Time," a sharp voice said, only it wasn't Adele this time--it was Porthos.

Athos jerked like he'd been slapped, and he pulled back from Aramis so suddenly Aramis reeled, clinging to him even tighter. Aramis blinked at him, feeling strangely lost suddenly, and Athos stared back with the exact same open, lost expression. 

The party noise returned to Aramis' awareness suddenly, louder than ever. Someone wolf-whistled, a few people were clapping, and ordinarily, in this situation, Aramis would turn and wave, take a grinning bow, something like that. He knew what everyone called him behind his back, so he liked to turn it around on them and not be ashamed. It took all the fun out of it for them, which made it fun for him.

Only now, with Athos staring at him like his entire world had been turned upside down and violently shaken, all Aramis could do was push a hand through his hair and flash a weak grin around at the rest of the room.

His gaze fell on Porthos--Porthos, who'd been the one to tell them to stop--and suddenly his stomach dropped.

Porthos had the same look that Athos had--like the world had just exploded and reformed in a second, only worse because if Athos looked lost, Porthos looked like he'd just found something and it was the opposite of what he'd wanted.

Athos slid slowly back into his place into the circle, and left alone, Aramis couldn't do anything else but sit back beside Porthos, painfully aware of Porthos stiff and uncomfortable beside him. He slumped down, curling into himself, and he felt dizzy, he felt sick to his stomach, but his whole body still ached and tingled with heat, with desire, and he didn't know what he wanted anymore.

"Your spin, Aramis," Athos said, his voice twice as deep and rough as usual, and Aramis repressed a shiver as he leaned forward and spun the bottle.

He could barely watch it spin. This had stopped being fun a long time ago.

The bottle slowed, and for an insane second Aramis thought it was going to point straight to him--he'd have to spin again, fan-fucking-tastic--

And then it pointed at Porthos beside him.

Aramis barely choked down the hysterical, despairing laugh that wanted to burst out of his chest. God hated him. There really wasn't any explanation other than God fucking hating him, at this point--punishment for years of skipping confession, and for every egregious sin, all that lust and sodomy, no doubt--maybe he should just go home and spare everybody else the second-hand embarrassment of watching him break down.

He felt Porthos move beside him, and Aramis looked up at him, wondering if there was anything he could say that would maybe make this okay--

And then he stopped. Because Porthos looked caught out the same way that Athos had, and since he was right next to Aramis, Aramis could read him so much better than he had Athos, a few feet away. And there was definitely something in Porthos' face--behind several layers of carefully guarded emotion and trained stoicism--that Aramis would definitely describe as...hopeful.

Something _broke_ in the pit of his chest, and Aramis surged up onto his knees and reached for Porthos. He was too off-balance, too suddenly desperate, for any greater level of finesse than just grabbing him and smashing their lips together, and God, it was awful, it was sloppy and off-center and he felt Porthos' shocked exhalation and for a terrible second, Aramis felt nothing but absolute despair.

And then Porthos' big, strong hands cupped the back of his head and held him close, tilting his face until what they were doing could actually be called kissing. And then, when Porthos' lips angled just perfectly across his, and Aramis could breathe again, Porthos' fingers tightened and just held him there, and Aramis gasped, his mouth falling open--

And then Porthos dove into him, one hand holding Aramis close as his other arm wrapped around his waist and dragged their bodies together, and suddenly Porthos wasn't just _kissing_ him, he was _holding_ him, holding him close and kissing him like he'd never get another chance.

Aramis' eyes stung with tears. _Porthos._ His Porthos, Porthos who had been the center of his entire universe since Porthos had come slouching sullenly into his homeroom the first day of seventh grade--and then Athos had come quietly into their lives in ninth grade, and the center of Aramis' universe became a binary system, revolving around and in tandem with them--and then tonight had irrevocably changed their rotation, smashing everything together into something different, something wild, something new.

Aramis made a broken sound, his arms tightening around Porthos' neck, and Porthos' arms were the only thing holding him upright--because if it had been up to Aramis, he'd have been on a puddle in the floor right now. He'd never been kissed with six years' worth of desperation, the way Porthos was kissing him right now--four years of Athos' desperation had been overwhelming enough--and Aramis' whole body was shaking with love and lust and aching sadness so intense he thought he'd fly apart.

Athos saved him. "Time," he called, somehow knowing his voice would be the only thing that could penetrate the haze around them. As Aramis surfaced, the roaring in his ears gradually resolved into the wild cheering and catcalling of his peers, and he was suddenly sure it had been much longer than ten seconds. They must have been putting on a good show, for no one else to interrupt. 

Aramis faintly realized his shirt was rucked up, and his hands touched Porthos' as he reached to smooth it down.

He opened his eyes, startled, and Porthos' face was barely an inch from his, his brown eyes very wide and very dark. 

Aramis had no idea what to do. 

"Your spin," he whispered.

Oh, _fuck,_ why did he always _do_ that?

Something shuttered in Porthos' expression, and Aramis _ached,_ he wanted to kiss him again, to kiss it away, so badly. "Guess so," Porthos said, and he released Aramis far more gently than Aramis was sure he deserved at that moment.

Aramis looked for Athos, as Porthos reached for the bottle. 

Athos' face was as unreadable as ever, and Aramis wasn't sure if that was good, that Athos had regained his equilibrium, or bad. There was a coiled tension to Athos' body, though, something intense and predatory, and Aramis shivered.

Porthos spun the bottle. Aramis took a very long drink.

And nearly spit it all out when it pointed to Athos.

"You're so popular tonight, Athos," Constance joked, and Aramis could tell from the strain in her voice that she was trying to ease the tension--he loved her for that, even as he could barely breathe around a lungful of warm beer and sudden choking fear.

Porthos and Athos stared at each other across the circle, and it was too fucking loud, suddenly, too much music and too many people around them talking and laughing and wolf-whistling, and Aramis didn't know what to _do--_

Athos pushed himself into the circle, fluid and graceful, his whole body moving with that same barely-contained tension and his eyes fixed on Porthos, and Aramis only had half a second to stare before Porthos moved from his side. 

The loss of warmth left him reeling, and he could only see Porthos' back for a moment, and all the tense lines of muscle under his shirt--

Then Porthos and Athos collided--and held--

And then they turned just a bit, and Aramis had a perfect view of Porthos' hands pushing into Athos' wild hair, as Athos did his very best to climb Porthos like a fucking _tree_ while they were both on their knees on the ground. He could hear, over the noise of the party, because his ears were tuned perfectly to them and them alone, Athos' low, shocked groan and Porthos' answering sound-- 

Porthos' teeth flashed white against Athos' bottom lip, Athos shuddered and pressed closer, and all Aramis could see was _them,_ how _good_ they looked together, how they fit together so perfectly and held each other so tightly and--

Aramis' vision blurred with scalding tears, and he scrambled to his feet and bolted.

He could barely see, could barely breathe, and he pushed his way through all the people watching--he didn't care what they'd say, they'd said awful shit about him for four years and he just didn't care anymore--he thought he heard someone call his name, maybe d'Artagnan, but it was too hot and too close and _Athos and Porthos kissing like they were dying, holding onto each other like they hadn't held onto him--_

He stumbled through the hall and out the front door, out into the New York summer, sticky and buggy and still so humid he could barely breathe, and where the fuck had he parked? He'd been nursing that one fucking warm beer all night, he was fine to drive, he just needed to get the fuck out--

He heard the door slam open behind him, and then Porthos called, "Aramis!"

He braced himself against the side of his car, fumbling in his pocket for his keys, and he didn't want to turn around, he didn't want to talk about this, he didn't want to see Porthos kiss-marked and sweat-streaked--

"Aramis, wait!" Athos, too, then, sounding closer than Porthos had, and Aramis dragged his keys out of his pocket, desperately pretending he hadn't heard them.

His eyes were too full of tears for him to see the fucking handle, and Aramis dropped his keys. He swore, loudly, and slammed his hand against the door, not sure if he were biting back a sob or a scream.

And then there were footsteps rushing behind him, gravel scattering, and Athos' hand (smaller than Porthos', lighter and more tense, and Aramis remembered exactly how it had clenched and pulled in his hair) landed on his shoulder. "Aramis?"

"I'm fine," he choked, shaking his head wildly, "I'm fucking fine--"

"You're crying," Porthos said, sounding out-of-breath and something else, and Aramis didn't know if he wanted to shake off Athos' hand or turn into them. "Aramis, c'mon, will you just look at us?"

Aramis shuddered and surrendered. He turned and slumped back against his car, not trusting his legs to hold himself up anymore, and stared up at them.

They were both breathing hard, shining with sweat in the yellow haze of the streetlamp, Athos deliciously disheveled and Porthos only just a little less. They were both also staring at him, and Aramis felt his heart shrivel up and die at the sight of them both.

Athos' hand moved from his shoulder to his face, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he hadn't even noticed he'd done it. His thumb traced over Aramis' wet cheek, and Athos' face twisted in this helpless sort of grimace. "Aramis," he said, like he didn't know what else to say, because Athos never really did but he still _tried,_ sometimes, and that was one of the things Aramis really loved about him.

He reached up and covered Athos' hand with his, pressing it to his cheek and holding on for dear life. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to keep any more tears inside instead of out, and he just wanted to hold on, just wanted to have this before they told him they wanted each other and sorry, better luck next time--

Porthos' hand came up to frame his other cheek.

Aramis' eyes snapped open in shock.

They were both still staring at him, holding him between then, and Aramis felt a chain reaction of wonderful, awful feelings exploding down from the places where they touched him, to the dark and ugly secret places inside his heart, the places where he'd carried so many torches for so long--

"You're leaving me," he blurted out. He couldn't help it, the words forced up by the furious jackhammering of his heart, and his eyes stung with tears again, this time scalding tears of fucking _shame_ because he'd fucking _said it,_ why had he said it? And now that the words were coming, he couldn't stop, not after seeing the sudden horrified looks of understanding on their faces-- "I know, I know it's college and it's going to be great, but you're _leaving,_ you're both fucking leaving and I'm going to miss you too much, and I didn't plan on--on kissing you tonight, I swear I didn't, but--but what if it's the last chance--?"

"We've got all summer," Porthos said then, his voice hoarse.

Aramis broke off.

"All summer, Aramis," Athos echoed, and he was staring at Aramis with the exact kind of helplessness Aramis was feeling.

He swallowed, hard. "All summer to--to what?" He barely dared to ask, to hope, even, and then--

Porthos and Athos exchanged a swift look. Something passed between them, and Aramis couldn't parse it--didn't have _time_ to parse it, because Athos leaned in and kissed him again.

It was sweeter, gentler, just a crushing press of lips against his own, and Aramis trembled with the force of it. 

"That should have been the first," Porthos whispered, and he was closer, he'd leaned in. "Something like that, not surrounded by a fucking mob with a damn bottle saying how and when we were supposed to do it."

Aramis let out a shaky sob against Athos' lips, and chased them when he started to pull away. "No," he said, half out of his head with need, "no, stay--"

"We're not going anywhere," Porthos whispered, as Athos brushed his lips over Aramis' just one more time. "Not right now. We've got all the time in the world, Aramis."

Aramis opened his eyes, then, to stare between the two of them--and he couldn't stop the hope rising up in his chest, even if he knew he was setting himself up for the worst kind of disappointment. "How much time?"

Porthos shrugged one shoulder, smiling at him. "At least the summer."

"And then all the time after," Athos added, his fingers tracing along Aramis' chin. His blue eyes were dark and serious, and Aramis couldn't help but believe every word that came out of his mouth, when he looked like that.

He looked at Porthos, the bubble of hope swelling larger, and Porthos' smile softened in just the way Aramis was hoping it would. "You really think we're gonna let distance stop us, now that we know we want this?"

Aramis closed his eyes and shook his head. "No," he said, and smiled at them, feeling the bubble in his chest grow and grow until he thought he'd lift off the ground. "No, I know you better than that."

Porthos leaned in and kissed him then, in turn, and Aramis melted against the car. Porthos kissing him willingly, not because it was the rules, not because everyone was watching--it was just Athos watching, and from Athos' rough and wanting sigh, Athos _clearly_ didn't object.

Aramis kept his eyes closed when Porthos leaned away, trying to indelibly ink the memory into his brain. "So," he began, and his voice cracked. He swallowed, hard, and tried again, opening his eyes to look at them. He needed to see their faces when he said it. "Does that mean no one objected to--to the kissing?"

Athos, with his beautiful characteristic abruptness, leaned in and pinned Aramis to the car. He rolled his hips once, and Aramis' entire brain short-circuited with _want_ when he felt Athos undeniably hard against him. "Does that feel like an objection?" Athos asked politely, his voice rasping in his throat.

Aramis stared hazily at him, not sure he trusted himself to answer, then his gaze flicked to Porthos. Porthos leaned on the car, his eyes dark and hot, and he had one hand on Athos' shoulder, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the edge of it. "Bet it feels like something that rhymes with it," Porthos said, and grinned at Aramis (who was getting so wound-up with arousal that he barely groaned at the awful joke). "Proof enough?"

Aramis nodded, his tongue sliding out to wet his lips, and Porthos' gaze sharpened at the sight. 

Abruptly, Athos disappeared from his side. Aramis went lightheaded from all the blood in his body rushing south as Athos _bent_ \--and then came up with Aramis' car keys in his hand.

He threw them to Porthos, who unlocked the back door with startling efficiency. Porthos jerked open the back door, and Athos grabbed Aramis' hand and pulled him inside.

Aramis went willingly. He felt like he was dreaming--this couldn't be happening, could it? Maybe one of them would pinch him, in one or two really interesting places. Athos slid to the far window, pulling Aramis into the middle seat, and for the first time in his life Aramis thanked his parents for giving him their ancient station wagon. The back seat was like a park bench. 

And then he really, _really_ was not thinking about his parents, because Porthos crawled in behind them and slammed the door, and Athos dragged Aramis into another heated, fervent kiss. Aramis wasn't thinking about _anything_ except Athos' lips and teeth and tongue, and Porthos' hands snaking under his shirt to roam, like they had before their kiss in the living room was interrupted.

"Aramis, this is all right, isn't it?" Athos asked, breathless, as Aramis dropped his head back against Porthos with a needy sound. "You want this?"

Aramis nearly cried again, from the sweetness of the question, and he reached out for Athos and dragging him closer. "Yes, yes, of course I want this, I just didn't know I did until tonight--"

"Us, neither," Porthos gasped, shifting slightly as Aramis fell back half-into his lap. He shuddered when he felt Porthos' erection through their jeans-- _fuck,_ he was big, Aramis had never known _that,_ either. Aramis moaned softly, grinding his ass back against Porthos' groin, and Porthos' curse was music to his ears.

"Fuck, you two," Athos murmured, his eyes hot and dark as he stared at them, and this was a side of him Aramis had never seen before. He'd always had a _feeling_ it was lurking just underneath the surface, but actually _experiencing_ Athos the sex god was something entirely different.

Porthos clearly was having a similar kind of religious experience, from the way his voice went low and growly. "C'mere, you," he breathed, reaching up to Athos. Athos pressed instantly closer, and Aramis was sandwiched between them for a glorious eternity as Porthos insistently devoured Athos' mouth.

Athos was panting when Porthos finally let him go--Aramis had twisted around to watch, and he was achingly hard from watching them kiss again, up close and personal this time, in 3-D, technicolor, surround sound, and all--and there was a satisfaction to Porthos' grin that Aramis had never seen before. Athos made a choked-off sound of arousal, leaning back and pushing a hand through his hair, and he looked dazed, his lips slick and plush and shiny.

It was a good look on him, Aramis thought dizzily. Porthos practically purred, rubbing his hips almost absently against Aramis' ass, and Aramis caught his breath, pressing back against him. 

He _wanted,_ oh, God, he wanted, he wanted so many things he didn't feel like his skin could contain them. These were his best friends. They knew him so well, and they'd never, ever hurt him. And they were here--for now, maybe forever, they were here, and they wanted him.

Aramis closed his eyes and let out a shuddering, relieved breath, shivering against them both. 

"Fuck," Athos said, crisp and sharp, like he'd made a decision. Aramis tried to focus on him--then lost it all over again when Athos roughly pushed him and Porthos back a bit, and with that same coiled, predatory grace, slid onto his knees in the gap between the seats. 

He could only pant and stare, as Athos moved--then Athos' hand touched his belt buckle, and the frisson of electricity that sent along his spine jumped his brain back into action. "Athos, are you--"

"Yes, I'm going to suck you off," Athos said, his hair falling in his face as he looked up at them, "and yes, I'm sure I very much want to."

"Fuck," Aramis and Porthos said in unison, and Porthos pressed a biting, wet kiss high up on Aramis' neck. Aramis could tell by the angle that Porthos was watching avidly, and that thought kicked everything up another notch-- _Porthos is here, Porthos is going to watch Athos suck my cock--_ He whined and shuddered between them as Athos settled between his legs.

"Shh," Athos soothed him, stroking one hand up and down Aramis' thighs even as he deftly unbuckled his belt. "We've got you, Aramis, we aren't going anywhere."

Aramis let out an inarticulate moan of pleasure as Athos' hand brushed his painfully hard cock through his pants. "I know," he choked, "I know, I know--"

"That's right," Porthos whispered, kissing his neck again, and he started to suck a mark there, high up just behind his ear. Aramis whimpered at the tiny frissons of pain mixing with the undeniable pleasure. Athos moaned, bending hastily to his work of unbuttoning and unzipping, and he was so clearly excited that Aramis could barely process it.

"Athos," he said, reaching down to run a hand through Athos' wild dark hair, "whose cock have you sucked?" The minute it was out of his mouth, he realized it was probably over the line--Athos was notoriously private, and if he hadn't told Aramis and Porthos, he probably wouldn't--

But Athos just looked almost shyly up at him, considering, and didn't answer. Instead, he pushed Aramis' jeans down his hips. Aramis' cock jutted out obscenely in his underwear, and Athos let out a heavy breath, bending to trace his mouth over the damp fabric.

"Feel good?" Porthos whispered in his ear, and Aramis _shook,_ nodding desperately as he writhed between them. He tightened his hand in Athos' hair, hoping he'd take the damn hint, but Athos only smirked at him.

"Sure you want to know?" Athos asked, and licked the line of Aramis' cock through the cotton of his briefs.

 _"Jesus,"_ Aramis swore, barely managing not to buck up and catch Athos in the chin. "Yes, yes, please, yes--"

Athos met his eyes through the dark, sweaty fringe of his hair, and he smiled slowly, stroking the heel of his hand over Aramis' erection. "Anne had a strap-on," he said, his lips curving in memory. "It felt real enough to count." He considered it, then added, "Besides, I was done playing and wanted out."

Aramis closed his eyes, trying not to shake apart, because _fuck,_ of course it counted, the principle was the same, wasn't it? He felt shivery all over at the thought of Athos, on his knees and diligently sucking a hard silicone cock, getting it ready to--

 _"Oh,"_ Porthos gasped, getting there right as Aramis did, and even through his jeans, Aramis could feel Porthos' cock jerk in his pants. "Oh, fuck, Athos, did she--did you--"

"Yes," Athos said, his voice impossibly low and rough, and he tugged Aramis' underwear down his hips. Aramis hissed at the chilly rush of air over his already damp cock, biting his lip to keep from begging. 

"Should've known every bit of you would be as pretty as your face, Aramis," Porthos said, his breath hot against the back of Aramis' neck, and Aramis laughed breathlessly, shivering with anticipation.

"Yes," Athos said, and the word seemed to wrap itself around Aramis' cock, the way he breathed it out. 

Aramis swallowed hard, all the muscles in his body tense and shaking. "Athos, please?"

Porthos groaned against the back of his neck, and Athos looked up at him. "Since you asked so nicely," he said, his voice sounding raw in his throat, and in one smooth motion, he ducked his head and wrapped his lips around Aramis' cock.

Aramis arched back with an inarticulate sound of pleasure and need, and he would have bucked up into Athos' mouth if Porthos' hands hadn't suddenly landed on his hips and held them steady. Athos smiled his thanks, his eyes flicking up to them--royal blue in the darkness, only a thin ring around blown pupils--and Aramis was _barely_ holding on, he was not going to last long at _all_ if Athos kept doing whatever the fuck he was doing with his tongue.

Athos' eyes met his, and he held Aramis' gaze as he relaxed his throat and went down, down--

"Oh, holy _fuck,"_ Aramis gasped, pushing against Porthos' hands as blood rushed in his ears, and his head rolled back against Porthos' shoulder. "Holy, holy fuck, Athos, you--you--" Of all the people in this car he'd expected to be able to deepthroat _anyone,_ it had not been Athos, not at _all--_

"You are fucking gorgeous," Porthos breathed, staring avidly down at him.

Athos' eyes fluttered closed at that, and he _moaned,_ suddenly, around Aramis' cock, swallowing convulsively. Aramis choked out something like _ngh,_ his body curving forward, and Porthos held onto him, keeping him still so Athos could work. With a rough sound, he ground his own cock against Aramis' ass, like he just couldn't help himself. 

Aramis made another embarrassing sound, not sure if he wanted to push into Athos or Porthos more. Luckily, the two of them held him so still he could barely move--he just had to take whatever they gave him.

The thought turned every single bone in his body to water. 

With a moan of surrender, Aramis let his body go slack against Porthos. They would take care of him. They'd give him what he wanted. 

Athos looked up at him through his eyelashes, and he hummed in approval. Porthos practically purred, stroking his thumbs over the sharp angle of Aramis' hipbones.

"Just _fucking_ look at the both of you," Porthos said, rolling his hips against Aramis as he watched Athos suck him off. "Aramis, just lettin' us take care of you, all soft and easy, I've never seen you like this--" Aramis went even looser against him, craving the praise, and Porthos laughed softly. "And fuck, Athos, you take it so fucking well--" 

Athos groaned low in his throat, the vibrations making Aramis see stars, and he redoubled his efforts, going so low that his lips brushed the curls at the base of Aramis' cock. 

"Yeah," Porthos said, his voice a bass counterpoint to the roaring sound building steadily in Aramis' head. "I knew I wanted this the second I saw you two kissing--scared the shit out of me, I didn't know if either of you wanted it, if we could make it work, but it's fucking _perfect,_ now, look at you both." 

Aramis _keened,_ twisting against them, and he was well aware he was being noisy as all hell, moaning and cursing and gasping, but he couldn't _help_ it. His heart thudded so hard against his ribs, and his lungs wouldn't seem to hold any air. Aramis couldn't _believe_ everything he was feeling was Porthos and Athos, it wasn't real--Athos and Porthos were doing this to him--because they wanted him, because they--they cared, they were going to make the most of it before they left--and even then, it--it wouldn't be the end--

"Athos, _Athos,"_ he gasped in warning, feeling his orgasm starting at the base of his spine--he was already starting to shake, and it _scared_ him, suddenly, how overwhelming he knew it was going to be--

Athos met his gaze, and he reached up and took Aramis' hand, squeezing it. He didn't slow down for a second.

Aramis shuddered, his thigh and stomach muscles starting to tremble, and then he felt Porthos' hand shift to cover both of theirs.

They had him.

Aramis choked out a haphazard approximation of both their names as he came, pleasure sparking up every nerve ending in his body so hard and for so long that he felt the world start to blur at the edges. He gasped in a breath, then another, as Athos drew back, easing up only a little, and sucked him until there wasn't a drop left in his body. He'd swallowed it all, Aramis thought dizzily, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the thought. 

Porthos was panting against his neck, and Aramis turned his head dazedly for a kiss. He could barely control his muscles, but he needed the kiss, and Porthos obliged. It was messy, almost as sloppy and uncoordinated as their first one, with Aramis in a post-orgasm haze and Porthos rocking desperately against him, but fuck, it was perfect.

And speaking of perfect, Athos finally lifted his head, taking Aramis' softening cock in hand and gently tucking him back into his underwear and jeans, and Aramis broke his and Porthos' kiss to look down at him. "You're amazing," Aramis whispered whole-heartedly, and he reached down to draw Athos up.

Athos crawled back up onto the seat, his hands trembling slightly, and when he leaned in to kiss Aramis, he was rocking against him the same way Porthos was. 

Aramis kissed Athos long and deep enough to taste his own come on the back of Athos' tongue, and even in his daze, it was enough to make his cock give an interested twitch in his pants. 

Aramis sighed happily and slid out of the way so Athos could get at Porthos. "Go ahead," he said, bone-deep satisfaction flooding through every bit of him, and his stomach lurched pleasantly as Athos climbed instantly into Porthos' lap.

Athos ground down against Porthos' erection and the both of them gasped, Porthos throwing his head back and swearing and Athos leaning in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Porthos' neck. 

"Fuck," Porthos said eloquently, and he reached down to fumble at Athos' belt, at the fly of his jeans. Aramis leaned over to help, his coordination coming slowly back, and he licked at the drops of sweat beading on Athos' neck. Athos groaned, lifting his hips so they both could get at him, and his own hands made short work of Porthos' pants. He was _very_ good at undressing men, for someone who'd never kissed one before tonight.

"Holy shit," Aramis said almost dazedly as Athos freed Porthos' cock. "Porthos." He wanted literally everything about Porthos' cock. He and Athos were probably going to fight over who got it first, in days to come. 

He was fine with that.

Athos' low sound of heady agreement sounded like it had been punched from him, and he leaned in and captured Porthos' mouth again, kissing him insistently.

Porthos laughed and arched up into him, pulling Athos' cock out, too, and fisting it in his huge, callused hands. "I get that a lot," he said, staring up at Athos with blazing eyes. 

"I'm sure," Athos choked out, reaching down and wrapping both their hands around each other's cocks, holding them together and starting a quick, rough rhythm. 

Porthos cursed again, and he reached out his free hand for Aramis to ground himself. Aramis caught it willingly, leaning in and kissing whichever parts of them he could reach. "You look good, too," he whispered, as he traced his lips up the long line of muscle in Athos' neck. "I want to see you both come."

Athos groaned, and Porthos' breath hissed in his teeth. He started moving their hands faster, both he and Athos abandoning all finesse in their flood of desperation, and Aramis smiled. 

This, he could do. He felt sure again, secure, and he wasn't the most promiscuous person in school just because _he_ liked having sex with people. People liked sex with _him,_ because he was damn good at it. Because he could make them feel good. And he loved that.

So he leaned in and said absolutely filthy things in their ears--how good they looked, how pretty their cocks were together, how he wanted to come again just from watching them. How tonight was everything he'd never know he wanted--how Athos' neck curved so beautifully; how he couldn't wait to get Porthos' hands around him like that.

It took less than no time at all for Porthos and Athos to both be shaking and groaning needily into each other's mouths, hips and hands rocking in desperate and uncoordinated rhythm.

"That's right," Aramis encouraged them both, plastered up against Porthos' side and stroking his hands down Athos' back. "Getting close?"

Athos moaned and leaned into Porthos, bracing himself on the back of the seat with one hand, never stopping the motion of his fingers. 

"I know," Aramis crooned softly in his ear, reaching up to tangle his hand in Athos' hair. "He's everything, isn't he? So big and so fucking perfect--"

Porthos actually _growled,_ a deep sound of satisfaction and desire, and he nearly bounced Athos up and down with how hard he was rocking up against him. "If we weren't in a goddamn car," he gasped, fixing his eyes on Athos' slack and desperate face, "I'd be fucking you, Athos, right this second."

Aramis' gut twisted with a stab of pleasure--at the thought, at the words--but that was nothing compared to what it did to Athos. Athos pressed himself completely against Porthos' body, his hips losing any sense of rhythm, and he groaned into Porthos' mouth, one sound broken into four or five breaths. "I'd let you," Athos ground out, shaking, and Porthos pressed their foreheads together. "I want you to fuck me," Athos went on, his voice absolutely wrecked from having Aramis in his throat, and oh, it sounded fucking _gorgeous_ to Aramis' ears. "And I'd want to watch you with Aramis," he went on, sending another shudder down Aramis' spine. "I bet he wants it, too--"

"I do," Aramis breathed, leaning in to kiss Porthos' neck where his pulse jumped in his throat. "I want _everything."_

Porthos swore, his own rhythm breaking down as he pushed blindly into Athos' hold. Their cocks were slippery with sweat and pre-come, and they were both close, Aramis could tell. 

"Come home with me and you can fuck me," Athos gasped wildly, his head falling to Porthos' shoulder. "Can't wait that long now, but come over and we'll go again--nobody's home, it's just me, come home and the three of us can fuck in every room in the house--"

"Yeah," Porthos said, "fuck, Athos, yeah, please," and his voice cracked, he was just teetering on the precipice, he was so close but he wouldn't let himself fall-- 

Aramis reached down and wrapped his hand around them, twining his fingers in theirs. "Athos, Porthos won't come until you do," he whispered, on a sudden flash of insight, and that did it.

Athos came with a broken-off cry, pressing against Porthos and reaching blindly for Aramis, and Aramis held his hand, stroking him through it even as his and Porthos' grip got slippery with Athos' come easing the way.

Porthos looked up at the both of them, his face tight like he was chasing something only he could see, and Aramis had another brilliant idea.

He reached out and dragged Athos into a kiss, deep and messy, and Athos, still shivering through his orgasm, moaned in soft approval against Aramis' lips.

With a low, guttural groan, Porthos came, his hips bucking so hard he nearly threw Athos off, but Athos and Aramis both rode it through, holding him, soothing him. It was as much as he'd done for them--he deserved nothing but utter gentleness, too.

The three of them slumped together, catching their breath, and Aramis kissed every bit of sweaty, sticky flesh he could reach. He lifted all their joined hands to his mouth and licked busily at the streaks of come, indiscriminate of whose fingers he was kissing and sucking, and Athos and Porthos groaned with one voice. Aramis grinned and kept on, feeling so, so fucking _happy,_ like he was floating again, and when he'd finished, he nestled down against Porthos' side as Athos draped himself over Porthos' chest.

He'd made them both feel good. And they'd shown him, louder than any words could ever say, that they wanted him. They weren't going to forget about him.

"Love you," Aramis whispered, his eyes fluttering shut. "Not to be that person who says that after sex, but--"

Porthos shushed him, holding them both close. "We know, Aramis. Me, too."

"Me three," Athos said sleepily, and Aramis had never heard Athos say something so a) colloquial and b) inane. 

"Sex haze is a good look on you," Porthos teased Athos, and Aramis' heart squirmed happily at the sound. They were still each other, they hadn't changed. They just had a whole new world of things to tease each other about. 

Which, speaking of-- "Athos?" Aramis asked, reaching across Porthos for Athos' hand. "Why'd you say _fuck_ before you went down on me?"

Athos hummed in acknowledgment. "Truth, or pleasant bullshit?"

"Truth," Porthos sighed, and they both felt the rumble of his voice through his chest.

Athos stretched, rearing up and pushing his free hand through his wild hair. "My parents are the biggest homophobes imaginable. There's a reason you've never met them." Athos shrugged at Aramis and Porthos' sympathetic winces. "It is what it is. I thought I'd exorcised all my cock-sucking desires with Anne, like a good little heterosexual, but I've never been quite so happy to unequivocally decide that I'm bi."

Porthos hummed happily, reaching up to trace a finger along the stubbled line of Athos' chin, and Athos closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

"I know how to get back at them," Aramis suggested, pressing closer.

Athos arched an eyebrow at him, cracking open one eye. "Oh?"

Porthos grinned at Aramis. "Fuck in their bed?" he guessed.

"Fuck in their bed," Aramis confirmed.

Athos laughed, like they'd never heard him laugh before, and more than anything, that was what made Aramis know nothing had changed. Or--well--rather, _everything_ had changed, but in good ways. The best ways. 

For the better.

"I'll drive," Aramis said, and pushed himself upright and into the front seat.

**Author's Note:**

> we will now return to your regularly scheduled college!AU. SORRY FOR THE DETOUR I needed to write some smooching. as always, you can find me on [le tumblr.](http://tehriz.tumblr.com)


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